


Watching Memories and Waiting on a Dream

by Llamaonfire



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Afterlife, Band Fic, F/M, Happy, Heaven, Inspired by Music, John Lennon - Freeform, M/M, Melancholy, Music, Musicians, POV First Person, POV John, POV Male Character, Paris - Freeform, References to the Beatles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llamaonfire/pseuds/Llamaonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: “can you write a fanfic about John and Geogre sitting in heaven watching how Paul and Ringo doing things and talk about the old golden days? Mclennon and whatever you want. Please.”</p><p>Summary: As we grow old we find ourselves constantly looking back, watching the old movie of our past and looking back at all the old memories we’ve collected over the years. When you die, it’s no different. </p><p>Constantly I find myself comforting and bandaging old wounds of time by getting lost in these films. Finding myself in Kenwood, Strawberry fields, Ol’ swigging London and, most commonly, Paris.</p><p>Rating: NC-17 (Drugs, bad language, violence, Homosexuality and sex)<br/>Time line: Present time, looking back at the 50’s, 60’s and in general John and Paul’s life.<br/>Pairing: Mclennon with mentions of PaulxLinda.</p><p>Point of View: John’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching Memories and Waiting on a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr post:http://thewritingberry.tumblr.com/post/84562223740/watching-memories-and-waiting-on-a-dream-one-shot
> 
> Slight sequel to "lost in the city of light"
> 
> Make sure to comment and tell me what you think!

Heaven, paradise, the places everyone wants to go. Little do they know that there's nothing really that special about it. I would be lying though, if I said that nothing has changed. All the normal pressures of life don't really exist here, neither the family and work pressures nor the "having to stay alive" pressure. You kind of have nowhere else to go from here. This has opened an enormous amount of door for me. Yes, fear still exists, but it is no longer the fear of dying or fear something bad happening physically to ya. It's more of an intellectual type of fear, a fear that comes from the unknown instead of the already acknowledged.

Any lord, I'm not here to rant on about heaven and all the wonders of being dead, instead I'm here to ponder on the past. I've done this a lot lately. Remembering.

Not to quote Supertramp, but when I was young it seemed that life was so wonderful, a miracle... Fine it wasn't even close to a miracle, but when you are a kid or a teenager the things you worry about, despite seeming like they are extremely important at the time, they aren't.

You go crazy and rip your hair out over things, like whether or not the girl or lad you like, likes you back. You quiver inside when a zip pops up smack in the middle of your face. All these things are literally child's play compared to adulthood. Taxes, kids, wives, husbands, work and a lot other things that pile up in your head. Their importance constantly testing your heart and health, pushing you over the edge. Those are the important things! Or at least that's what adults think.

Well, in my 70 something years of age I've lived in the world of mortals, of immortals and the famous, and I tell you: none of those things are important. This is gonna sound beyond cliché, but it's, in my humble opinion, the holy truth of life and afterlife too: Love is the only thing you should care about. Not just the love you find in a lover or a partner, but the love of friends and family too.

Now I look back at my life and I find myself screaming at the protagonist. I, that man as such an egotistic, childish, snob fool! One night in Hamburg Paul was quite, tense and I was drunk with a girl hanging on my shoulder. You believe that I had the nerve to come to him and drunkenly ask him "what was getting his knickers in a bunch?!" My words blurry with alcohol, the wall high between me and my feelings.  

There was another night later on, this time he was happy, hugging me and laughing and I brought him down. I was too upset about how fat I was to enjoy Paulie's happiness. I was too self centred to be happy for him, instead I let myself sink in my own self pity. That’s something that I didn’t lack at all, self pity. Still there are nice memories. Little episodes that leave my lips curled at the corners. There was one summer's day in 1965, I think, that I find myself reliving quite often.

The sun was burning into my sunglasses as I lied back on the tiles of my pool in kenwood, feeling my skin sulk up the rare sun. I could feel the heat rising from my skin, when I heard two loud and long screams stretching along the garden and coming in my direction. One on a much higher pitch than the other, then a big splash that completely drenched me. It was Paul and Julian, both playing as if they were father and son. I didn't even care that they had woken me up from my nap under the sun or that they had gotten me wet, well not after I turned to them and saw their fucking little faces, the glee in them. I swear, at that moment I had my perfect little family. Just us, lost in our own perfect little garden. We were like three little kids, school friends also and, at the same time we were a little family. I have to admit that I had difficulty having that with Jules (that something that eats me up a lot), but with Paul there he helped me relax and forget all that was expected from me as a father, and just enjoy my boy.  

That day was perfect. They managed to pull me into the pool, all three of us splashing and playing around like three goons in the multicoloured pool.

_"Go under McCartney!"_

_"What?" Suddenly John pulled Paul under the water, giving the drowning Beatle the air he needed by kissing him._

Then, when it began looking like it was time for lunch, we drove out to a park in the snob part of London -where no one would give two fucks about us- and had some fish and chips as we watched the ducks play around the little pond. The wind played upon the grass as Jules soon found himself chasing around the defenceless ducklings, meanwhile me and Paul laid back on the grass, cuddling close together in the low setting sun of the soon approaching evening. Birds singing their last tune for the day, before they settled in, as I stroked back his dark-ish locks, getting lost in his beauty.

I know that it's not usual for someone to call men beautiful, but Paul was truly beautiful to my eyes. No wonder I had doodled and drawn him so many times over the years, his dowey eyes, his perfectly arched brows, his plum, sweet and so fucking kissable lips. I could just spend days marvelling at each of them and their perfection.

Lost in my memories I always find myself reaching for the phone, wanting to call him and have a laugh about these old moments, but then I remember. "Oh, I can't call..."

Sometimes I just wish that if he was to leave me, that he would just leave forever, because I just tired of waiting here, being here suppressed by fears and insecurities. His presence is still here with me, everyday I can feel him with me and these holes that he left in me just don't seem to heal (I almost don't want them to), there's just too much, that no amount of time away from him can erase. All those times that I cried and he held me in his arms, the times that I was clawing at my eyes, screaming, he screamed with me, then held me in his arms. His voice used to be the only thing that would bring the sanity back to me, now what do I have?

I've tried to keep all these things back, telling myself that someday he'll be back to me, but like I said before, the insecurities voice themselves. What about Linda? What if he still doesn't want me back? What if all my childish words still linger in his mind and he actually believes them and ends up going back to her. I still find myself wanting to shelter him, protect him in my arms. It's funny, because I know for a fact that he belongs here. He is meant to be in my arms, pulling me up from my hell bound existence and slaying my demons as I slay his. Still, it's all left to fate.

I keep the emptiness back by floating back on to my past. Not all the memories are melancholic or innocent, there are quite a few that, well, are not exactly things that I would tell Sean or Jules. All of them so different from each other, but so amazing in their own way.

Yes, oh the things we did back in the 60's. Never do drugs kids, well unless you want to have some fun. If so, then you need to get high, high, high my darlings.

That night was a cold, London night like any other boring ones, well not where we were. Inside the multi coloured, strobe light lid room it was hot, boiling. The smells and sounds all mixed together in our minds as our bodies and a hundred other bumped and rubbed together to the pulsing, psychedelic beat of the swinging 60's. The night was young and the blazes were high as his lips closed around a join we were sharing. That had been the lightest of drugs of the evening, by now neither of us knew if the floor was really the floor or if it was the ceiling. God knows how we managed to dance and even less make it alive to his house in Cavendish. The ride home was a trip all on it's own. Plants and people outside mixing and matching in strange ways, soon though I found myself being dragged by my tie.

Around him the air seemed to glow red as if it showed his passion and hunger. "I'm gonna do it to ya, I'm gonna do your sweet banana like it's never been done."

I couldn't help but laugh, as my clothes were ripped apart on the way to his room and my body was thrown on to the bed just as we arrived.

Having sex while tripping, I have to admit, is amazing. I felt as though we were literally one as the music from the club seemed to still play in the background. As if our souls had somehow merged into one. The term "feeling complete" doesn't even begin to cover just how amazing it felt. I felt every part of his body and parts that I'm not so sure how I even was able to feel, his heat matching mine as he filled me. I couldn't tell if I was moaning or if it was him, but our moans echoed wildly around the dark walls and wooden floor, creating a whole new melody of it’s own, that seemed purer than the most angelic opera or serenade.

I held onto him, his shoulders and we held our gaze and a whole new, orgasmic sensation came to us. It was like we were making love via telepathic as we were actually making love. I felt my heart so strongly that I didn't feel it at all. I could almost hear his thoughts as if they were my own, hear every moan and feel every sensation.

That connection we had was one of the things about us that I miss the most, being able to know how he felt and knowing that he knew how I felt too.

It started very early on, but in the beginning it was raw and less intellectual.

It was 1959, Paul had been studying and being pressured by his father to work, so in over a month we hadn't even kissed. It was the middle of the afternoon when I just felt a heat rise on my body and the only thing that I thought was "Paul".

I had never been this impulsive before, and that means a lot coming from me. I threw on a white shirt, a dirty pair of jeans and left. My bike going as fast as a cheetah as my heap increased.  I don't quite remember getting there or even getting off my bike, the next thing I remember is the door swinging open and my shirt quickly being grabbed by a strong pair of hand, dragging me into the house.

"Jim?"

"Out, work. Only back at night." Before he could even fully utter the later part of his sentence my lips were already over lapping his, moving in the lust filled rhyme as my hands trailed into his hair and his in mine. I kicked the door closed with a swift kick back, slamming it as I started to pull at Paul's clothe.

I could feel his breathing on my neck, heating up my skin there, as I slid my hands along his chest, from under the still present shirt. Quickly that was fixed, along with the other pieces of clothing as we battled our way up the stairs to Jim's, due to the double bed. I pushed him back on to the mattress and with a grin and with my naked body I asked "you want?"

On the bed he moaned longingly as he spoke in his lowest, sexiest tone. "Yes"

I climbed on top of him, my skin caressing his as our noses touched, his greenish eyes gazing deep into my own with a dirt, sexy, horny expression. I felt every hair on my body, every centimetre of skin aching for more and more in contact as we pressed ourselves together, grinding.

We kept moving ourselves together till the friction wasn't enough. I remember perfectly, the warmth of him. The way he moaned, biting his lips before biting into my neck, words don't do it justice. There was a mix of pleasure and adrenalin, 'cause both of us knew that what we were doing was highly illegal.

Still we didn't give a fuck.

I later on missed that carelessness so much, during my years in the Beatles I couldn't be careless, because of our image and later on because I had Yoko and Sean. I was still careless, but not completely. There needed to be a bit of care in my whole careless adventures.

I loved Sean and Yoko was my wife. I read people saying that I never loves Cynthia or Yoko, but I think that the people that say that simply don't understand love.

Love is not pure sex or needing to be with that person for the rest of your life. Love doesn't come just from the soul or just from the body. Love is also not necessarily something timeless.  

Both Cynthia and Yoko were women I loved very dearly and needed in my life at the time. Cynthia gave me constancy and normality that I needed at a time of complete craziness. Yoko gave me disciple, gave me the strong teaching love of a mother, no matter how sick it sounds to some. People compare them to Paul, but I don't see that being possible. I know what my feelings were for Cynthia and Yoko, but to this day I don't have a clue what my feelings are for Paulie. He sometimes is my brother, he's always my best mate, but sometimes I find myself escaping to a place where all of these concepts lose themselves. We always mentioned it during our lives, not intentionally, but it was just always there. It was our happy place, a place where we were us, where no reporters or fans could touch us.

Who would say that there is a reason behind the things we do for love? who would say that there isn’t a reason? Being moved by love may be a stupid thing to some, but it feels beyond amazing. It’s like giving your brain a holiday, while still feeling every emotion. No, it’s all even more fantastic. You feel every emotion so purely, not rationalizing them or over thinking.

I found out early on in the year that I was getting a good amount of money as a gift and at first all I thought about was buying a new guitar, but later that day something changed my mind.

I was with Paul at my house, he was randomly playing notes on his guitar, letting his thin fingers slid around the long neck of the cheap guitar as his lips emitted the most beautiful little tunes. At first it was just random words and little rhymes, I watched him as my doodles lied on my lap, soon the words began to create a story. _“My hand… your hand, walking somewhere, a place where nobody cares… watching our lives go by, so precious together, forever….”_  None of the words really rhymed, but somehow his sweet tone played into my mind and an image began to form itself.

Both of us hand in hand, walking somewhere we both were meant to be. For the first time I could see comfort in his eyes, both of us were relaxed, happy. The giggles were so pure and sweet, all just an amazing dream.

"Paulie?" I called to him. The random tune stopped only making me nervous about my proposition.

"Hmm?" He hummed looking up at me from my bed. In my nervous state I studied him. His shoulders relaxed, dropping slightly but still keeping him arched against the guitar. The curves of his cheap instrument hugging his own perfectly, I envied the guitar.

"You wanna go away for a bit?" I blurred out looking down at my drawing, before letting his continuous gaze catch my eyes.

"Away?" Paulie looked at with confusion, but there was a speck of glee in his eyes, excitement probably or just mockery.

"To Spain, I heard that it's legal there. We can even stop in Paris on the way, make a holiday out of it." I tried to play it cool, but I felt my lips curling up at the corner, happiness getting the best of me.

"Are you daft John? With what money? And what time? We can't just leave all of a sudden, what will people think?" I hated how much he was right, but in my blinded mind his logic didn't apply to this, not to us.

"I'm gonna get money, for my birthday, we can go them. Say we just needed a break." I jumped off my seat and knead in front of him, taking his hands in mine. "Come on Paulie, imagine being able to walk around, free, not caring what people say about us. No one is gonna care about two nobodies." He was reluctant, so I kissed his hand and smiled up at him as I sat next to him, hoping that the excitement in my heart was leaking out of me. "Imagine being able to kiss where ever we want, hold hands as we walk around Barcelona, and not having to care about it reached Jim's or Mimi's hears. We can do that there."  He just looked at me for a bit, I could see that somewhere under his reluctance was a great amount of excitement, the light was there, making his eyes shine just a little brighter than normal. His hand rose to my face, cupping my cheek as he smiled. "You are a fool, ya know?"

I smiled back brightly and pecked his plum lips softly. So fucking kissable. "You make me this way." I laughed as I pushed him lightly, back on the bed, putting the guitar to the side of the bed as I kissed him deeper, letting his hands dig into my hair. My hands explored his body and soon we lost ourselves.

Those months could not have passed quicker, before I knew it we were standing on the side of a road, bowler hats and bags in hand waving at passing cars and vans. Getting there was like slipping into the best dream I've ever dreamed. We got off in the centre of bohemian Paris, we felt free and alive. The first thing I did was put on my glasses, those heavy framed, buddy holly like glasses that I hated so much. Paul looked over at me and giggled.

"What? I want to take it all in perfectly." I spoke jokingly, before changing my bag to my left hand and reaching over to Paul, taking his hand in mine.

He froze slightly, tensing up. I caressed the top of his hand with my thumb and smiled at him. "It's alright here."

"People are looking though." He was right, they were looking at us with disgust just like back home, only this time I didn't care. They didn't know us and they could tell the police because it wasn't a crime there. My heart, it was alive for the first time, pumping blood as we journeyed around town. We spend the beautiful, sunny, cold morning walking, like Paul sung before, hand in hand, without a care in the world. We eat in the best, cheapest places possible, sharing banana milkshakes and hamburgers as our 5 star meals. At night we showered, most of the time together to use our body heat to fight hypothermia from the freezing water, and left for the night scene of Paris. We were staying in the bohemian part of Paris, and my god was it “bohemian”. It was like we were back in Hamburg all over again, the music, the art, the freedom. We danced the night away, drinking and having a good time, before taking ourselves back to the hotel, if you could call it that, and start the second part of our evening plans.

We made love every night, one way or the other, there we were. My hands sliding down his smooth body as I pulled down his tight jeans, his hands going it opposite way on my own body as he pulled up my shirt. His touch was so masculine, but still with such love and care. His eyes seducing me and comforting me. He managed to make me feel horny, seduced, anxious, excited, comfortable, cared for and loved all with one kiss or a simple touch to my cheek.

Some nights it was slow, sweet, soulful. We felt each other’s soul as we touched and whispered little secret words of love. Other nights it was hot and wild. We grabbed on to each other like we were hanging on to our love, fighting for it to stay with us. Feverish kisses, bites, sucking and slapping, grabbing. We were like two wild animals in heap and in battle. We could swear that the whole of Paris could hear our moans.

I could go on for days and days talking about the star lit nights we spend in Paris, remembering like I do everyday, thinking of it would be like to go back there with him. Letting my memories form new thoughts and letting my hopes leave me waiting for this new movie to be played. Both of us now older, mature, yet still so in love. This time there isn’t any running away from life, the people we knew and knowing that the hardest part is over. This time we are returning to the place we once belonged. We are going home. 


End file.
